


Bad Blood Always Wins

by thatnerdemryn



Series: Em's Kinktober 2020 [7]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Blood, Blood Loss, Bloodplay, Canon-Typical Violence, Cutting, Dark Spencer Reid, Kinktober 2020, Licking, M/M, Spencer Reid as Unsub, there's a lot of blood in this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:09:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26897230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatnerdemryn/pseuds/thatnerdemryn
Summary: “You’re not getting out of that chair, Hotch,” an eerily familiar voice chimed through the darkness. Hotch’s head shot up and he did his best to ignore the sting that went with it as he stared into eyes that used to glisten like honey.They were darker than Hotch remembered them - shadowed by his painful past - and the whites of them were dull and bloodshot. Hotch’s heart stuttered as the memory of a man hovered over the grave he had dug for himself flashed vividly through his tired mind.
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner/Spencer Reid
Series: Em's Kinktober 2020 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1948495
Comments: 8
Kudos: 75





	Bad Blood Always Wins

**Author's Note:**

> For Kinktober Day #7 - I chose _Bloodplay_. 
> 
> This is a _very_ dark take on who Reid could have been. Just a little note: I strongly HC this version of Reid as ace and that was heavily considered while writing this fic! 
> 
> Please read the tags before continuing and also don't judge me what you're about to read akdsjflka;sjfla; Read responsibly and take care of yourself!

Hotch awoke slowly, a pounding sensation reverberating through his ears and a lightning strike of pain shooting down his spine. He tried to lift his head but it was entirely too heavy; why was it so _heavy_? He took a deep breath, wincing when his lungs screamed at him, and lolled his head to the side, letting it fall back against the hard surface behind him. He tried to shake the haziness from his gaze and instantly regretted it as the muscles in his neck tightened and cramped. A hiss and pain-filled groan resounded through the air, followed shortly by a dark chuckle. 

Hotch paid attention at the sound, his years of extensive training and on-the-job experience jumping to the forefront of his mind. He blinked his eyes as quickly as he could as if that would do something to wipe the cloud that seemed to float in front of them. He started to pull at his hands, wanting to rub the fogginess from his vision, but he couldn’t move them. There was something holding them down, restricting his movement, and panic rose inside of him. 

He inhaled slowly and as the oxygen filled his lungs, his vision cleared and he caught sight of the frayed ropes bounding him to a chair. His legs weren’t any better off from where they were chained to the floor. He tried to rock the chair from side to side, cursing quietly when the seat didn’t even budge. He stared down at his lap, noticing that he was still in his gym shorts but that his t-shirt from his morning run had been removed. 

“You’re not getting out of that chair, Hotch,” an eerily familiar voice chimed through the darkness. Hotch’s head shot up and he did his best to ignore the sting that went with it as he stared into eyes that used to glisten like honey. 

They were darker than Hotch remembered them - shadowed by his painful past - and the whites of them were dull and bloodshot. Hotch’s heart stuttered as the memory of a man hovered over the grave he had dug for himself flashed vividly through his tired mind. 

“I’m surprised it took you so long to wake up. The Dilaudid should’ve washed out of your system thirty minutes ago by my calculations,” Reid noted with a hand on his chin. He tilted his head before eyeing Hotch thoroughly. “I _know_ I didn’t get the math wrong so that must mean you’re not taking care of yourself again.” If Hotch hadn’t known any better, he would have thought there was genuine care and concern in Reid’s voice. 

Hotch narrowed his eyes and asked, “Why am I _here_ , Reid?” A bubble of laughter echoed through the room and Hotch’s breath caught in his throat. It had been years since he had heard the bright sound of Reid’s happiness and he had imagined being the cause of it so many times in that span. He wished it was in the comfort of his office or home rather than the loft Reid had him trapped in. 

“You’re here because I care about you,” Reid said simply, and when he took a step closer, Hotch noticed his already thin frame seemed frailer. His eyes scanned down Reid’s lanky arms to see the curved knife in his hand. Hotch’s heart stopped. 

“It’s you,” he whispered and the words sounded broken to his ears. Reid sauntered forward and held the knife flat in his palm like an offering Hotch wouldn’t take - and whether he wanted to or not, he couldn’t. “Why Reid?” He asked. If he was going to die in that room, he needed answers. He needed to know what changed; what had shattered the man in front of him to turn him into the monster Hotch had been hunting for weeks. 

Reid clicked his tongue as he knelt in front of Hotch. “C’mon, Aaron, you’re smart. Not as smart as me but then again,” he pulled at the restraints around Hotch’s extremities as if testing them before quirking an eyebrow at the man, “most people aren’t.”

“You’re not a killer, Spencer,” Hotch responded in complete sincerity. He had known Reid, recruited him to the BAU, invited him into the team with open arms and into his family with every joyful moment they spent together. 

“Thomas Sanderson would say otherwise. James Lucas, Danny Hoyt, Erik Lawson,” Reid listed fondly as he settled himself between Hotch’s spread knees. “At first it was for the fun - the chase, even - and to finally be the alpha male I’d strived to be my entire life.” He rested the blade on Hotch’s thigh and no matter how much Hotch tried to squirm, he knew it was no use. There was nothing more devastating than a killer with training - and wasn’t that exactly what Reid was?

“Why now?” Hotch asked. He was wasting time, praying that another member of the team would figure out he was gone. He tried to hold onto that hope even though he knew it was worthless. Reid would have had a plan for that. There was no doubt in Hotch’s mind that after all was said and done, Reid would leave the loft unharmed and disappear without a trace again, and Hotch… He wasn’t quite sure where he would be. 

“There’s only so much a person can _take_ , Hotch. Only so much acting a person can play before someone starts to figure him out. You were the closest to breaking - the only one that knew what I could be capable of - no matter how much you tried to deny it.” 

Reid was right. Hotch had an inkling from the moment Reid gave him his blood and tear-stained notice that they would end up on the wrong side of each other. That hope he held onto so strongly broke the minute Hotch awoke and set his eyes on the man he thought he knew. There was no denying that lingering tickle in his spine, that faint voice in the back of his head that constantly told him he knew who the team was dealing with. 

He should have listened. 

“Now,” Reid said as his long, boney fingers trailed up Hotch’s thigh, “you’ve studied me for weeks. What’s my next move?” Hotch knew it was a game to him. Once that string of reality broke inside of his head, there was no turning back. The puzzle pieces he used to put together to catch killers were now strewn out on the dirty floor for Hotch to pick up after. 

“You’re going to cut my stomach open and watch me bleed to death,” Hotch whispered. He had read the ME reports, seen the aftermath of all of Reid’s victims. One slice from hip to hip, just below the belly button, with no hesitation or remorse. He had always wondered what the victims had thought as their killer watched them die, taking in the visual representation of the life draining out of them in the form of blood gushing from the wound. He never thought it would hurt that much but then again, he never thought he would have loved a killer. 

“I am. There’s something else, though, that the ME always misses with me,” Reid said as if he was proud of himself. Hotch narrowed his eyes as Reid dragged the blade slowly across his stomach. The ME was right - there was no hesitation to his movements - but the cut across Hotch’s skin was shallow and he knew it wasn’t enough to kill him. 

“You’re a coward,” Hotch spat, his breath heaving out of his chest as the pain overwhelmed him. 

Reid shook his head and sighed, “If I was a coward, I would have killed you while you slept. You know as well as I do by now that you’re making it out of here alive. You’ll fixate on me, hunt me until there’s nothing left - no more trail to follow. I know you and I know our team, but I also know that you won’t catch me.” Reid traced a gentle finger through the blood that seeped down to the waistband of Hotch’s shorts, smearing it along the skin as his hand dipped into Hotch’s boxers. 

“Spencer,” Hotch choked on his name like a prayer, begging for him to stop. He didn’t want Reid to touch him, not the version of his friend kneeling before him. 

“ _‘Spencer_ ,’ he says as if it’ll make a difference.” The dark laughter that followed sent chills racing down Hotch’s spine. His body shook as more blood poured from the gash on his stomach, his internal temperature dropping with each second. Reid’s eyes snapped up as if he was remembering something important and he narrowed his eyes at Hotch. “You’re not going to ask?” Reid teased as his blood-covered hand casually brushed through the blood as if he was painting a masterpiece. Hotch whined painfully. 

“Ask what?” Hotch begged, willing to comply with whatever Reid wanted if it meant it all would stop. 

“What the ME misses?” Reid urged, the smirk on his face reminding Hotch that it was all a game to him - a puzzle he wanted Hotch to put together without the help Reid had always offered - just like it had been for the hundreds of unsubs Hotch had captured before. “When blood falls, it does so in streaks. It’s pretty easy to tell if an unsub sat back and watched his victims bleed out, but I don’t see the fun in that.”

“And what _do_ you do, Spencer?” Hotch hoped there was something left inside of his friend that he could latch on to, but the sickly smile that spread across Reid’s face squashed the minuscule light at the end of the tunnel. 

“I play.” He punctuated his words by dragging the flat blade against the trail of liquid flowing out of the wound. Hotch’s stomach wretched, his throat burning with bile as Reid brought it to his mouth, his long tongue licking up the blood in one swoop as he brought what had once belonged to Hotch into his mouth. “I sat back for years watching these inferior unsubs play with their victims only to put them out of their misery so _quickly_. They never had the time to bask in what made each other their victims human.

“You see, the blood that flows through our veins is symbolic,” Reid started, coating Hotch’s chest in his own warm blood. “Some see it as the thing that keeps us alive, others as the most intense definition of love. I see it as power.” Hotch jumped as the knife clanged to the floor and Reid sucked a finger into his mouth, removing it with a disgusting pop. “I never had control over what ran through my blood; schizophrenia, dementia, Dilaudid. My blood has never been as sacred as the books always told me it should be. When I found out I couldn’t continue my bloodline even if I wanted to, I asked myself what was the _point_ if I wasn’t seeking all of the pleasures of the world.”

“Your trigger,” Hotch whispered as he started feeling the effects of the oxygen leaving his body, his own lifeline dripping from the slash in his stomach. Reid placed his palms flat on either side of Hotch’s chest, his nose brushing through the leaking incision delicately. Hotch knew it should have hurt, but he hadn’t felt anything in a few minutes and he figured that wasn’t a good sign.

“My _trigger_ ,” Reid repeated as excited eyes glanced up. He waited until Hotch’s were on his before licking a solid line up Hotch’s chest. His tongue traced Hotch’s jaw until his lips were a whisper against the shell of his ear. Hotch could hear the smack of his lips as he licked them clean of blood. “We’re all about those in the big, bad BAU, aren’t we? That one thing that pushes us over the edge when we’ve been wavering on a balance beam for the entirety of our lives. I never put much stock in psychological sciences until I started working with the FBI; I guess I have you to thank for that,” Spencer noted as he patted Hotch’s face. He hadn’t realized his eyes were starting to close until the wet smack caught his attention. 

“Spencer, please,” Hotch muttered, one last plea for the person he thought he knew. Even if he pretended to see the flash of sympathy in Reid’s eyes, it forced him to stay conscious for just a moment longer. 

“This was a warning, Hotch,” Reid said after a moment of unexplained silence. Hotch’s eyes fluttered and his ears throbbed as the blood left in him tried to circulate to his brain. “You can look for me all you want but you know as well as I do that the losses will be too great if you do and I’m too much of a threat to those you hold dear.”

Reid pressed a gentle kiss to his head as Hotch whispered, “You should kill me.” He meant it. The knowledge that someone he loved so deeply was so broken and villainous would be enough to drive him crazy for the rest of his life and at that moment, he begged for death. 

“All killers have their weaknesses, Aaron. Mine just happens to be you.” Hotch tried to hold on, to stay awake and convince Reid to give in to his weakness - to stay with him - but his mind went blurry and his vision went to black and he accepted it was a battle he was never going to win. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed, please feel free to follow me on [Tumblr](https://thatnerdemilyj.tumblr.com/) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/thatnerdemilyj/).
> 
> Kudos make me smile and comments make me weep, so please leave them!


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